Viridi Oculos
by SinnamonDumpling
Summary: In 1943, mystery surrounds the night the Riddle family was murdered, however, even more mystery surrounds the young child left alive in the wake of the murders. Rowan Riddle is found by Dumbledore who introduces her to her half brother, Tom Riddle. Tom, loathing the girl, discards her as nothing at first but believes she could prove to be useful. Warning: abuse, manipulation.
1. The Offer

Introduction

The Offer

* * *

 _August, 1993_

It had been a perfectly normal day. She liked those days the best. Where she simply had to do her job at the local Owl Emporium, perhaps run a few errands for the Emporium owner, Mr Magrat, and then return to her apartment to read. She could sit there for hours pouring over pages she had read a hundred time over, all these muggle stories she had collected that now had slowly become long, spindly piles up to the ceiling. The apartment itself held no indication that it had been lived in for nearly a decade. No photos decorated the ebony walls, no paintings or little knick knacks sat atop the small mantlepiece. All that resided in the small space was books and essential utensils, and a rather battered-looking cauldron that was balanced atop an oval table in the far corner. This cauldron was clearly hardly used as dust formed around the rim and the four rusted legs. A good thing, really.

True, it _had_ been a normal day. However, she barely had to time to flick her wand and make a pot levitate beneath the tap when a polite tapping echoed on her front door. Her head snapped quickly at the sudden noise, wild eyes darting around for a moment before she straightened herself up and relaxed. It was likely just a Muggle neighbour, they were always trying to politely make small talk with her or gossip about this that and the other. Though she noticed gossip usually centered around a young Muggle mother a few doors down. Poor girl.

With another quick flick of her wand the levitating pot clunked heavily into the sink and then she cautiously opened the door. The worn smile on her face dropped when a familiar silvery beard greeted her wild eyes. She blinked. No, it wasn't a mistake. The man wore his own small smile, but she noted the unusual warmth in the action. Blimey, when was the last time she had seen that smile?

"Good evening, Miss Riddle."

She swallowed down a gasp and spoke coolly, "Professor Dumbledore."

"Come now, no need for formalities. You haven't been a student for many years. Dumbledore will be fine, or Albus if you prefer."

"Professor Dumbledore," she persisted stubbornly, "not to seem rude but why are you here? How did you-"

"The Ministry of Magic always knew where you were, Miss Riddle. As did I. Though, I never imagined you would be here of all places."

"I prefer muggles these days. They don't know anything about me." She explained with a hint of venom.

Dumbledore ignored the viperous tone and continued warmly, "American muggles at that, a surprise I must say. May I come in?"

She nodded stiffly, opening the door wide and swiftly moving back inside the room. Once Dumbledore had quietly closed the door she flicked her wand and the pot began to levitate once more and fill with water. "Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?"

"Ah, yes please." Dumbledore answered. His bright eyes avidly watched her movements behind his half-moon spectacles. Faded, emerald robes clung to her thinly frame. Her face was hollow and sullen and her skin had gained some pigment again since the last time he had seen her, though the paleness of it would have seemed unchanged to anyone else. Her dark hair had been cut short and created some ambiguity, though this ambiguity didn't seem to lessen her anxiety as she fleeted about the place flicking her wand to hide most of her possessions from his view. There was not that much to hide.

Eventually the two sat opposite in plain, brown armchairs with cups of tea balanced on their laps. She brought hers up to her pale lips with trembling hands, avoiding as much eye contact as possible. Dumbledore did not show the guilt he felt in his heart. Instead, he sipped the watery tea gently and began to speak, "very refreshing thank you. Sherbert lemon?"

"No thank you, and it's too watery," she argued flatly. "Still, it's better than my potion-making."

"I recall Horace telling me once how your draught of living death wouldn't even be able to kill a fly," Dumbledore spoke thoughtfully.

At the mention of the old potions master she shivered and deciding the cup was safer out of her trembling hands, she placed the cup of tea on the table in front of them. It was hard to imagine this woman's actual age considering her mannerisms and appearance were far more common in a younger witch. "If you've c-come here to talk about the past then please just leave." She stuttered, pain glinting in her wild eyes.

Dumbledore took another sip and then discarded the watery tea onto the table as well. "That's not why I am here."

"Then why?"

Dumbledore's smile loosened slightly. "To put an offer to you," he began, "an offer to teach at Hogwarts."

Silence. Then, a cold cackle erupted in the room. She couldn't help herself, the dark irony was too much and years of suffering came out in painful laughter that lasted a good while. Dumbledore didn't appear perturbed, but his judgement on her reaction was quite wrong. He had not expected her to _laugh_.

Finally the cackle died away and she shook her head. "You are asking me? _Me_? To teach at Hogwarts? I'd heard you had gone mad but I didn't believe you'd be barking mad."

"It's an excellent job for you. Care of Magical Creatures," Dumbledore continued, ignoring her questions completely, "you'll be helping Rubeus Hagrid as Silvanus Kettleburn has retired. You may come to Hogwarts before classes start in September to setup a lesson plan with Hagrid. He's excited you know, to be working with you, I honestly thought he would need more of a push."

"Couldn't you have sent this 'offer' by owl?" She sneered.

"I felt it needed a personal meeting."

"No." She answered.

"No?"

"No I will not. I did not agree to this nor would I _ever_ agree to it," She hissed.

"If I recall you were quite gifted in the subject, both in your O.W.L and later in your N.E.W.T, and to be a co-professor would be best suited as you have limited experience in teaching."

Her eyes darkened. "I will not agree to it."

Dumbledore smiled warmly at her once more. "I understand, it was insensitive of me to put you in this situation. It must be difficult to think about your time at Hogwarts, and teaching children is a task indeed. It is a rare talent." He picked up the cup of tea and drained it. "I had best be off then, but thank you for the tea."

Her face scrunched up as he stood to leave. She leapt to her feet. "Wait! I'll do it. But on one condition, they do not find out who I am."

Dumbledore turned to face her again and was more than thrilled to see excitement sparkle in those wild eyes. It was always her pride. Always. "I shall do my best."

"I mean it, Professor, they can't know. I can't…" she trailed off. The unspoken words were not needed. Dumbledore knew the dread that she felt.

"I will do my best," he repeated.

They talked for a while more until Dumbledore convinced her to come to Hogwarts in the following weeks. Before leaving he had tapped her shoulder in a friendly gesture, however she found the contact unnecessary and awkward. She was truly dazed by the time he had left. After all these years, after all that had happened, he still greeted her with a warm smile as if she was that eleven year old girl again. It was both relieving and confusing. She shook her head. There was no way that anyone would know who she was, Voldemort had made sure of that long ago, at least they wouldn't know _fully_ about her. But to be working alongside Hagrid, to be at that damnable school again...perhaps she had been mistaken to agree. Alas, Dumbledore knew how to peak her interest.

When was the last time she had had a challenge?

Actually, that was something she did _not_ want to think about.

Her hand clasped around a pendant that hung from her neck, the small silver bird almost sizzling beneath her fingertips. Fear engulfed her for a moment before she sighed loudly and decided that an early sleep was needed. However, an early sleep didn't stop the nightmares that plagued her mind that night.

* * *

 **Finally decided to try a hand at writing a Harry Potter fanfic again, my first ever attempt at writing was initially a HP fanfic but I really hope I've improved since then _**

 **This fanfic will fleet between the 1940s and Harry's third year a lot but hopefully it won't get too confusing.**

 **And please forgive the awful cover image, I'll likely change it soon.**

 **Would greatly appreciate feedback as I haven't written an OC in a fanfic for years now :)**


	2. Tragic Beginnings

Chapter One  
Tragic Beginnings

* * *

August, 1943

Rowan Sorbus Riddle, while caressing the silver bird pendant between her fingers, stared blankly at the plump police officer sat across the table. He had offered her tea, even a biscuit despite the rations nowadays, but she had shook her tiny head at both. She didn't want a tea or a biscuit. She wanted her father. She wanted her father to be alive again.

The police officer's pity wasn't helping either. She didn't want his pity. She wanted her father. And yet she sat there, not even daring to swing her legs, and waited. She had already told them everything they had wanted from her, though their annoyed looks as they had walked out of the room meant they weren't happy with her answers. She couldn't help it! She didn't remember anything peculiar happening last night. She had told them everything clearly and vividly:

Father had put her to bed at the usual seven o'clock, then around 9 o'clock she woke up needing a drink and went downstairs to get a glass of water. She had heard her father and her grandparents talking in the drawing room but quickly went straight back to bed in case they got angry. And then the next thing she knew the maid was screaming in the early hours of the morning. And then she found out they were all dead.

She didn't hear anything, she didn't see anything, and yet they were still annoyed at her? Wouldn't they be more concerned about the war going on than a couple of dead people? She didn't want to be at the police station anymore, but she didn't want to go home either. What if their bodies were still there? What if their ghosts were there? Grandad Thomas had said that ghosts were just a bunch 'rubbish', but would he think the same if he was one? She shivered. He would certainly be an angry ghost.

The plump officer suddenly coughed. She blinked a few times before her vibrant green eyes landed on him. "Erm, got someone 'ere wantin' to talk to yer. Says he's 'ere to offer you somethin'."

Offer her something? That was...strange. However, she nodded her head and the plump officer went away to get the person. When he stepped into the small room she scrunched her nose. He looked strange too. He wore purple robes, very formal-looking, and his grey beard stretched down to his waist. He smiled warmly behind half-moon spectacles.

"Good evening, lad."

"Hello," she squeaked cautiously and made no attempt to correct him. She had been taught early on not to.

The officer awkwardly stomped away to likely eat some more biscuits. The strange man towered over her and yet she didn't feel threatened at all.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, I'm a professor at a very special school," he explained slowly. "A school for people like you."

People like her? Her eyes bulged. Oh. Now she understood why father had ripped up that letter a few weeks ago, muttering angrily with tears pricking his eyes. "Did you send a letter?"

"Yes," he answered instantly.

"Father ripped it up. Said I don't belong there."

"I see," Dumbledore paused to sit down at the opposite side of the table, "I believe you do belong there. What do you know of magic, Mr Riddle? Actually, may I call you Rowan?"

She leaned back. Was he mad? "Magic is a trick magicians do on people. It's just illusions. And you can call me Pidge, I guess."

"Pidge?"

"My father's nickname for me, I always remind him of a pigeon. Or did."

"Very well, Pidge it is. And magic isn't just illusions, magic is very very real." Rowan simply snorted. Dumbledore continued, "would you like me to prove it?"

When she shrugged her little shoulders Dumbledore winked and suddenly the silver bird flew from her hands, slipped over her neck and levitated in front of her. Her black, wire-like hair had been pulled over her face so she had to move it out of her way to see properly the levitating pendant. She shook her head. "It's just a trick, it's just a trick."

"Pidge, have you done things you can't explain? Things while you were scared?" Her tight-lipped response answered his question. She quickly grabbed the pendant and slotted it back over head where it sat limply against her chest. "Your father was likely scared too. Scared for you. But you have my word that you have nothing to fear at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts? What kind of name is that?" She blurted out.

"Wait until you hear the school song," Dumbledore quipped. "Speaking of which, I have your letter here." He pulled a small envelope out of a concealed pocket and handed it to her. She stared at it, as if it would explode any second, but snatched it from his grip and greedily ripped it open. Her eyes read every word twice, just to be sure it was all real and that he was telling the truth. From what she could see he was. She let out a childish giggle. Magic was real. She had been telling her father the truth when she said the tulips burst into flames when the gardener, Mr Bryce, had yelled at her for being outside in the garden. And when she had 'accidentally' ruined her Sunday clothes, the colours faded and worn seemingly overnight.

Her bright eyes shot up to smile at Dumbledore. Her impulse got the better of her and she latched onto him with a tight hug, he chuckled and she felt the vibrations in his itchy beard. She was so happy. She would never have to go to that awful house ever again. She wouldn't be haunted by their ghosts. But then her blood froze, her face dropped and she pulled away from Dumbledore looking very sickly. "I'm alone," she murmured.

Dumbledore's sad smile and a pat on her head voiced his sympathy. At least, she thought, it wasn't pity like all the police officers. But in all the chaos she had forgotten all about that fact. She was truly alone. Her father hadn't mentioned family outside her grandparents, and now all three were dead and gone. She shuddered. Tears pricked her eyes but she quickly wiped them away. It was no good crying in front of a stranger.

"You are not alone."

Her brow furrowed curiously, "pardon?"

Dumbledore didn't blink once as he continued, "your father fathered another child before you. A young boy who is already attending at Hogwarts."

That wasn't possible. Was it? Her father had never mentioned a brother, then again, he was very secretive about her mother and got angry whenever she asked about her. In fact, they all got very angry at her a lot. "I...have a brother?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yes, a brilliant boy too, you can meet him soon once this sad business is done."

Sad business? Oh right her family. She supposed a funeral would take place though who would pay for it she had no idea. Perhaps they would just be buried and get the whole ordeal over with. Would her brother go to the funeral if there was one? Was he allowed? Was she allowed? Actually, she didn't want to think about any of that. She wanted to meet this brother. And more importantly she wanted to know more about magic.

"Sir-"

"Professor Dumbledore will do."

"Professor Dumbledore, what is my brother like? What other magic is there? What is Hogwarts like?" She asked insistently.

He smiled. All children were the same, no matter where they came from, they were all excited to learn more. Curiosity. "Calm, calm, you'll find out soon enough. Right now, it's best to continue to help these muggles."

"But Professor, I really don't know what happened. I was asleep."

"You never heard anyone enter the house? Never saw anything strange?"

Rowan paused, thinking hard, but nothing really came to mind. She sighed. "I just heard them talking in the drawing room, the door was closed and there was this bright green flash for a few seconds…" She stopped when Dumbledore's smile faded. Though he already looked old, somehow without that smile he aged another fifty years. "Professor?" She said, concerned.

"A green flash, you are sure of this?"

"I think so, Professor. It was so bright it nearly lit up the hallway."

Dumbledore leaned back in the chair, the creaking wood straining against the action, he really had aged. He said nothing for a moment, but once again he warmly looked to her. "Perhaps, it would be best if you met your brother sooner. Once these muggles are ready for you to leave I'll accompany you to London."

"London?" She asked.

"Yes London, I'm sure the Leaky Cauldron will accommodate you until September."

"You mean, I don't have to stay in Little Hangleton?"

"If you do wish to stay here-"

"No, no!" She cried, but then relaxed, "sorry, but I really don't want to stay here."

Dumbledore nodded his head. "Then I'll ask the muggle police officer when he thinks you can go. I'll be back."

He then stood up, gave her one last smile before disappearing out of the room. Excitement tingled through her. A brother? A real, magical brother? Her spirits suddenly dropped. Why didn't her father tell her about him? Why did he rip up her letter? She sat there reading it repeatedly. Did he want her to just be normal? A hand rose to her head and gently tugged at the strands of short, black hair. She looked down at her grey clothes, particularly the shorts and the brown, shiny shoes.

A normal boy. Something she had pretended to be for so long. Something she couldn't be.

* * *

Professor Dumbledore had been right, The Leaky Cauldron 's barmen, Tom, had happily given her a room despite not having any money. Though she supposed it was mainly down to Dumbledore asking for her. Even so, first entering the small yet welcoming pub had been a delight. The smell of brandy had hit her first, the familiar smell churning her stomach, but then she saw the people with the goblets of brandy. Witches, Wizards, all of them with pointy hats and robes and sticks which they used effortlessly to stir tea or other beverages. And then there was the other barman who cleared the middle table with a quick flick of his stick, goblets and pots levitating in the air and following him behind the bar. She had wanted more eyes so that she could see everything at once.

Dumbledore had stayed with her for a short while longer to make sure she was settled into her room for the night, even buying her some soup from the pub's menu. She realised she hadn't actually eaten all day. She slowly slurped a green-coloured soup when he suddenly pulled out a pocket watch. Rowan noticed it shimmered like gold. "I must be off soon," he said while putting the pocket watch away again.

Rowan delicately dropped the spoon into the soup and trembled ever so slightly. "Can't you stay longer?"

"As much as I would like to, I have important work to do. Tom will keep an eye on you and should you need anything just ask him."

"Before you go," Rowan said tentatively, "can you tell me something about my brother? Please?"

Dumbledore sighed, wondering what he could say about the boy in only small words. "He's...he's a brilliant boy. Smart. Craves to learn. But," he paused, noticing that Rowan was hung on his every word, "understand he didn't know about you either, so he may not...open fully towards you at first."

Rowan understood, but still joy filled her heart. She wasn't alone, not completely.

"And one last thing, how long are you going to continue to pretend?"

Rowan's eyes popped wide at the question. He knew? Of course he knew, he was a wizard. Pink warmth spread across her cheeks. "I didn't want to, father made me," she explained softly. Dumbledore thankfully didn't pursue the matter more.

Rowan didn't finish the soup but graciously thanked Dumbledore again just before he disappeared from the chair, literally, vanishing before her eyes. Tom came around a while later to take the bowl, she thanked him too, though she nervously avoided his dark eyes and his hunched back as she sprinted up the wooden steps towards her room. She didn't sleep, as much as she wanted to, the day had started as one of sadness and had ended as one of joy. It felt wrong to feel happy. Her family was dead all the way back in Little Hangleton and she was here in London with witches and wizards. It was insane thinking about it let alone saying it out loud.

When her heavy eyelids did finally close she was haunted by the green flash, the vividness of the vibrant colour far more real after mentioning it to Dumbledore. It filled her with fear and at the same time she was curious about it.

She awoke early the next morning by gargled roaring from the room opposite her own. It didn't bother her. Rowan dressed herself in her grey clothes again, placing the white nightgown back into the briefcase she had 'borrowed' from the Riddle House yesterday afternoon when Dumbledore had gone with her to collect a few things. She had hated being in the house again. Every patch of coldness chilled her bones and every dark corner made her imagine the ghost of her father suddenly appearing grabbing her, dragging her into the gloom in an attempt to stop her from leaving. It was childish, true, but imagination was something she enjoyed above everything.

As she left her room to get breakfast Rowan witnessed a housekeeper nearly being blown off her feet as a door slammed shut in her face. Unperturbed, the witch moved onto the next door and knocked once. "Housekeeping," she drawled. This time the door didn't even open. Rowan leaned her head around to see a battered old broom was following behind the witch, all on its on and sweeping the thick layer of dust on the floor.

"Excuse me," she asked politely.

"Yes?"

"You don't need to do anything with my room, it's clean."

The witch appeared indifferent at Rowan saving her from knocking on one less do. The witch squinted her beady eyes and then huffed, "you're that little tyke Tom was on about last night." Rowan's cheeks burned but she nodded. "Don't know what Dumbledore was thinking leaving an eleven year old 'ere alone. 'Specially a muggle-born."

Rowan's brow creased. "Muggle-born?"

"Ha, hasn't even told you what you are either. Well listen well, boy, a muggle-born is a magical child with non-magic parents and believe me that's not something worth shouting about. So, if I were you I'd keep it to meself, savvy?"

Rowan nodded her again, though more fervently, before speeding down the corridor and as far away from the housekeeper witch as possible. Though it was quite early the main room of the pub was already filling with wizards and witches, many had bags under their eyes and some were nursing sore heads. She sat down at the main wooden table, goblets and jugs were yet to be cleaned and a few hopped up and down the table looking for their owners. A wizard across from her was hidden behind a newspaper. In big, black letters the words Daily Prophet was printed at the top of the paper. It wasn't the words that intrigued her though, it was the pictures on the pages. They was moving. One was of rubble being ripped apart from a building with the headline Grindelwald strikes again above it. The other was that of a poorly dressed and ugly-looking man with a sneer on his face, the face made her skin crawl. Before she could read the caption the wizard flicked the newspaper closed and grunted something along the lines of 'darn Americans'. Rowan's eyes quickly snapped away from the newspaper but the keen-eyed wizard had already caught her staring.

"Would you like to read it?"

"If you don't mind, that is."

"Of course not, I'm done with it anyway," he said, lightly tossing the newspaper to her.

With a timid 'thank you', Rowan's hungry eyes found the man with the sneering face. She gasped sharply. The headline read murder of muggles perpetrator found, her family's names were printed clearly beneath the photo. So the green flash, it had been magic after all. Rowan read on and learnt the man's name was Morfin Gaunt, she was sure her father had mentioned the name Gaunt before, and colour drained from her already pale face. This was the face of the man that had killed her family. He didn't even look sorry. The newspaper had made sure the article on it was small, concealed, at the bottom of the page but there was no denying that Morfin Gaunt was guilty. He had admitted to it, proudly. She wondered if her half brother had read the same article already.

"You alright?" The wizard asked.

"Er yes thank you," she lied. "May I keep this?"

"Yes, yes."

Like a springer spaniel she was up out of the chair and sprinting up to her room where she folded the newspaper and locked it away in her briefcase. She stood there looming over it for a moment, solemnly watching Morfin Gaunt's sneer twitch upwards the longer she stared at it. She hoped Azkaban was terrible.

Another bowl of questionable soup and a chatter with the wizard who had lent her the newspaper and suddenly Dumbledore walked through the pub's front door. Tom greeted him with a handshake. Rowan watched silently as Dumbledore glided towards her with that warm smile of his.

"How are you today?"

"Better," she lied, well, a half lie. Her eyes sparkled brightly. "Is my brother with you?"

"Yes he's just outside," Dumbledore answered, he paused, "are you sure you're ready?"

She had never been so ready in her life. "Yes," she said.

Dumbledore then turned around and went back outside. Rowan sat deathly still with her head only moving when a barman got in the way of her view of the front door. She seemed to be waiting ages before Dumbledore stepped back inside followed by a shadow. When Dumbledore stepped aside she nearly fell out of her chair. He looked exactly like her father, their father, with the same dark eyes and dark hair and the way he stood stiffly with his arms clasped behind his back. It was a mirror image. All the words in the world left her and she could only stare at him.

It was Dumbledore that finally broke the silence as he said, "Pidge this is Tom Riddle. Tom, you know who this is."

"Yes I do, Professor," he answered with a silky voice. That was one difference at least. Her - their - father's voice was always slurred due to his drinking. He didn't look pleased, in fact she would even go as far to say that his expression was that of boredom. She gulped, suddenly self-conscious. She supposed that being a muggle-born was likely the cause. Tom made the first move and held out his hand. Smooth and slender. She stood up on lead knees and shook it gingerly. "Hello there," he greeted.

"Hello," she squeaked back.

"I was just advising Tom that perhaps it would be worth buying your things for Hogwarts...as a means to get to know each other."

"Won't you be helping?" Rowan asked, her tone that of sudden fright. What if she didn't get along with Tom? What if he just wore that bored expression the entire time? At least Dumbledore was there to encourage her with a warm smile.

"No, I have to prepare my classes for this next year. Tom here is in his fifth year at the present so he's here to buy his own items too. Good luck," and just like that Dumbledore vanished.

Rowan gulped. Tom's expression did seem to change slightly to disgust as his eyes scanned the pub. "Never did like this place," he muttered.

"It's alright," she replied, "the soup tastes like...I don't know."

Tom scoffed, "I hear the pea soup eats people." The corner of his mouth twitched upwards at the sight of her scared little eyes. "Well, let us get this over with, shall we?"

Tom didn't give her a chance to reply as he sauntered towards the back of the pub and through a door that lead out onto a small courtyard. Weeds grew through the cracks in the stone and brown bottles rolled in the early morning breeze. The mid-summer mist hung heavy in the air. Rowan silently stood behind Tom who faced a brick wall. He whipped out his stick, which Rowan now knew was called a wand thanks to the wizard earlier, and tapped a brick three times. Suddenly the bricks began to move, sliding over each other until an archway formed. Rowan peeked from behind Tom's back and stared at the busy alleyway with her mouth open. Rows and rows of wonky shops on either side with witches and wizards bustling through with their big pointy hats. She swore she saw an owl swoop down for a second before vanishing.

"What is this place?" She asked, mystified.

"How much do you actually know about the wizarding world?" Tom asked exasperatedly, his tone making her feel stupid.

"I know enough," she huffed back.

"Clearly. This is Diagon Alley," he said before storming forward. Rowan chased after him but soon began to panic as people really were bustling everywhere really close together. For a horrible second she thought she was lost in the crowds before she saw Tom's dark hair a little way ahead. Without thinking she yanked on his jumper. He spun around and spat viciously, "what do you think you're doing?"

She flinched. It was one thing to be told off by Frank Bryce or be screamed at my Grandma Mary, this was far more terrifying. "I-I panicked I'm sorry. There's so many people I just…" she trailed off into a whimper.

That didn't improve his mood but it did soften his dark eyes. "Just stay close. Here, hold onto this gently," he muttered as he pinched the arm of his jumper. She complied and ghosted her fingers on the rough material. And then they were off walking again but soon Rowan realised something else.

"Tom I don't have my letter with me, how will we know-"

"I remember what you need."

"But what about mon-"

"I have enough money with me for the both of us."

She stayed quiet after that, sensing his growing frustration. This wasn't how she wanted it to go at all. Tom paused in front of a shop with large black cauldron's levitating in the window. He told her to wait outside and to not touch anything while he disappeared inside to buy items. Across from the cauldron shop was another shop with cages upon cages of owls hung up high. The owls screeched and flapped their wings but carefully made sure they didn't injure them on the bars. There were all different species and sizes and Rowan was more than thrilled when a ruffled brown owl looked straight at her and bobbed its head. The blue sign above it read Eeylops Owl Emporium. She wondered why witches and wizards needed owls, wasn't it always black cats?

Tom reappeared with a small cauldron under his arm and he outstretched the other for Rowan to grab again as they walked further up towards a tired-looking building. A sign outside held a worn picture of a wand laid upon a cushion. They were getting her wand already?

"Tom?"

"What is it now?" He grunted, the cauldron heavy under his arm.

"What if none of the wands work for me? What if Dumbledore was wrong and I don't have magic?"

"Then you wouldn't be here now," came his short answer. When he looked down to see her head was bowed sadly he huffed and added, "a wand will choose you. I promise. No one else is better than Ollivander...as everyone says."

Entering the building Rowan was bombarded with smells similar to a library. Tom lead them up to the counter and practically dropped the cauldron on the floor with a loud clank. Rowan jumped at the noise but was more fearful of the man that scuttled towards them from the dark recesses of the shop.

"Ah, ah, ah what have we hear?" the old man sung, he smiled madly before turning his attention to Tom, "Yew, phoenix feather core. I trust it's been good to you so far?"

"It's been excellent, Ollivander."

Ollivander's gaze befell Rowan again. "A sister?"

"Half sister," Tom corrected.

"Well, I'm sure your wand will prove to be as good a match as the one Tom has. Hold still a moment," Ollivander commanded softly and a measuring tape measured her right arm. To Rowan's surprise it was measuring itself on its own as Ollivander disappeared into the shadows. She could hear him uttering different wand types before bringing back a handful. She waved them all but Ollivander didn't seem satisfied. "No, no another look." He disappeared and then came back with a larger pile. Still he didn't seem satisfied with any of them. Panic set in her again. Tom tapping the counter loudly didn't help either. One last time he disappeared and with a shrilled laugh came back with only one box. "Try this one, my dear."

He opened the box carefully and noticed that, unlike the other wands he had pulled out, this one was rather bendy. She carefully picked it up and gave it a slight wave, sparks flew from the end. She grinned. Finally.

"Eleven three-quarter hazel wood with unicorn hair, slightly springy. Yes, very interesting."

"Interesting?" She asked eagerly.

"Hazel wood is a sensitive wand and often reflects its owner's own emotional state. Quite dangerous in the hands of anyone else but it's owner." Ollivander leaned in close, "and more interestingly the unicorn hair, though not powerful, is just as loyal to it's owner."

"Is it true that unicorn hair makes it difficult to master the Dark Arts?" Tom interrupted, curiously.

Ollivander nodded slowly. "History does show few unicorn hair cores master the Dark Arts...but that's not to say it can't. We can certainly expect great things from you."

"Thank you so much, Mr Ollivander." Rowan said graciously.

Soon enough they had bought everything they needed for September. Tom had tried to carry all of it firstly, but after a few dropped items Rowan forcefully helped carry the robes and books. Tom didn't portray he was grateful.

Once her new items were packed away in her room at The Leaky Cauldron Tom sat with her for a while. He chose a shadowed table in the far corner away from everyone else, Rowan assumed it was both equally because he hated the place and because of her.

She tried to smile at him. "Thank you for today, I couldn't have done it on my own."

"You will have to learn someday that people won't always be around to help you. I certainly won't," he snapped. So much for trying to be nice. He sighed and continued, "it would have been less hassle doing it on my own, but I suppose I should thank you for helping me carry the items."

That warmed her heart a little. It was the nicest thing he had said all day. She yawned, tiredness rushing on her suddenly. "Tom," she said sleepily, "I heard people talking about Hogwarts Houses. What are they?"

As if she had flicked a switch Tom straightened up and his dark eyes swirled with pride. "There's four of them, for the four Founders of Hogwarts. They are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. I am in Slytherin," he explained proudly.

"I hope I'm in Slytherin too."

Tom chuckled darkly. When he looked back to her quizzical expression he explained with glee, "Slytherin would never accept a muggle-born into it's house. It would disgrace the entire Slytherin legacy."

Rowan's cheeks burned with embarrassment. So she was right, being muggle-born did make him hate her. Her brights eyes flared suddenly. "Maybe I'm not muggle-born, maybe my mother was a witch, father never talked about her, so maybe she is a witch."

"Unlikely," Tom sneered.

"I'll prove you wrong," she growled, "I will be in Slytherin."

Tom said no more. She had the nerve to think she could somehow prove herself? No, she was a mudblood through and through. Related or not, he would have as little to do with her as possible.


	3. The Boy Who Lived

Chapter Two

The Boy Who Lived

* * *

To say that Dumbledore was not surprised when Rowan burst into his office with murderous eyes was, in a way, false. He had expected her to turn up much sooner. Her emerald robe whipped sharply behind her as she stood before his desk, arms crossed, and a face of fury.

"You did not tell me I would be teaching _Potter_ ," she hissed, "and before you say it, yes, I knew he would be at the school. But making _me_ teach him in my first year here? That's cruel even for you."

"Harry chose to take Care of Magical Creatures, I can't do much about that."

"You're headmaster."

"You wish me to forcefully remove him from a subject he desires to take?"

"No I, I didn't mean-"

"Then what is it you wish for me to do?"

In answer Rowan just sighed exasperatedly. True, she hadn't had to teach him yet but tomorrow she would. She didn't think she could bear seeing his face up close, to see that bloody scar. Dumbledore was right, she couldn't expect the boy to be removed from the subject because of her own problems.

"First the dementors and now this," she muttered under her breath. Those awful creatures, monsters, she had hoped to never be near one again.

"Rowan," Dumbledore began softly, pulling her out of her dark thoughts, "I didn't give you this job on a whim. I know as you do, this is your chance to make things right."

Rowan chuckled hollowly. "I can't make it right though, can I? That power was taken out of my hands. That _boy_. _Potter_. I saw his face in the great hall when you said my name. He _knows_. How am I supposed to look him in the eye when Tom - You-Know-Who - killed his parents? And it's not just Potter, is it? It's Longbottom, that Malfoy boy, the Bones girl in Hufflepuff. All of them. _I_ was part of it."

Her arms dropped numbly to her side, her head bowed. It was as if she was a student being told off. Though, Dumbledore remembered clearly, that Rowan had been sent up to this office many times during her later years at Hogwarts. "Yes you were," Dumbledore agreed, "but unlike his other followers...you were truly loyal."

Rowan's head shot up, disgusted. "That makes it worse."

"Does it? Other Death Eaters chose to follow him for his power, others wanted the chance to be cruel, and few were simply obsessed with him. But you. You loyally stood beside your brother-"

" _Half_ brother."

"Half brother," Dumbledore corrected, "because despite what he had done you loved him more than anyone else. You remained by his side in hopes of saving him, yes?"

His words caused her eyes to glisten but she blinked the tears away. She did not cry anymore. Not for him. "And a lot of good it did," she snapped.

"He was already lost, made too many bad choices. That's what separates the two of you, Rowan, you make bad choices but with good intentions."

Rowan sniffed. "Bad choices. It was bad choices with good intentions that sent me to Azkaban." She looked up to her left and saw the painting of the previous headmaster, Dippet, who glared at her with cold eyes. She smirked evilly back. They never did get along. Her head then whipped back to Dumbledore, "I lost him the day he left Hogwarts. That 'man' was never my half brother. I'll teach Potter, mark my words, but if he gives me any trouble I _will_ resign."

"Understood," Dumbledore replied lightheartedly. She stormed back through the door and when he was sure her footsteps were stomping down the eagle staircase he turned to Fawkes with glee in his eyes, "I knew this was a good decision."

"I can argue otherwise," Dippet grumbled.

The next morning Rowan impatiently tapped her foot outside Hagrid's hut as she waited for the students to arrive. Hagrid, the great bulk of a man, was somehow more nervous than she was. "You'll do fine," she comforted, "you can't do much worse than Professor Binns."

"But what if they don' like me as a teacher? What if Buckbeak don' behave 'imself?" Hagrid whined.

Rowan rolled her eyes. Honestly. "Teacher or not you're still you, and from what Dumbledore has told me they were more than thrilled to see you back at Hogwarts last year. And Buckbeak, well, wild beast or not you know how to control him yes?"

"Right, yeh," Hagrid answered, pride hinted in his voice.

Rowan wore a tight-lipped smile. She added, "then we will have no problems then." Her words seemed to calm Hagrid at the very least, but she didn't believe them himself.

Finally black figures began to stroll down the hill towards them. Rowan straightened up. Her first close encounter with Harry Potter would certainly test her composure. Hagrid called the students closer to his hut cheerfully. Slytherins and Gryffindors, it was always Slytherins and Gryffindors. Rowan paid no notice to any of them until two boys walked up to the back of the crowd. She held her breath. The one, a round-headed boy with large ears, looked about nervously. There was no mistaking the child of Frank and Alice Longbottom. And then the other, the one she truly loathed to meet. Black hair that stood all over the place couldn't hide the large scar on his forehead. Mr Harry Potter. She swore he glared at her with cold eyes, even from this distance.

She coughed and then addressed the group. "Come forward now, yes that's it. I am Professor Riddle and I shall be your co-professor of this subject, I shall be taking classes within the castle," she paused to motion to Hagrid, "while Hagrid will be taking your classes outside the castle. You will find the two of us have very different views on teaching the subject but I'm sure you will find both classes enjoyable and educational. And as a word of warning, though I am new do not think this is an advantage to you. That is all. I shall now leave you in Hagrid's...capable hands."

Blank faces stared back at her. Right. Students. She nodded stiffly and stormed through the crowds that parted out of her way. Until she came to Potter. Her wild eyes fell down to the boy who refused to get out of her way. To her surprise his own were a vibrant green. A sickening green flash appeared in her mind. Thankfully there was enough space to angrily step around the boy.

She could feel those eyes boring into her back intently. She did not look back.

* * *

That same afternoon a knock rasped on her office door. She flicked her wand and the door opened slowly. And then in walked Harry Potter, bold as brass, with a disgruntled expression on his face.

She chuckled as she stood up from her relaxed position in her chair. "I wondered how long it would take for you to come see me, Potter. Tell me, is Mr Malfoy's arm as damaged as he makes it out to be? "

"You're related to him, aren't you?" He asked suddenly. Anger rose in his voice.

"I am, yes."

"How?"

"Has Dumbledore not told you himself?" She countered.

"I want to hear it from you, professor," Harry seethed.

Rowan sighed. The boy had every right to be asking questions. She motioned for him to sit but he stubbornly refused so she leaned against her desk to limit the tension between them as much as possible. "Tom Marvolo Riddle was my half brother, on my father's side. I didn't know he existed until I was eleven and he was already in his fifth year at Hogwarts."

"Did you know, about him opening the Chamber of Secrets?"

There was a painful pause of silence. "No, not until I was much older. I didn't know how, how _evil_ he was until he branded me. Even then I convinced myself he wasn't, silly girl."

Harry Potter's green eyes, so much like her own at that age, softened ever so slightly. His arms relaxed too. "Branded you?"

A hand flinched to touch the inner part of her left arm, thankfully the fabric hid the vile thing that remained motionless on her body. She prayed it remained motionless forever. "A dark mark. One all his followers carry but I was indeed the first to be given it. To Tom it was his way of claiming me completely. To have control over me. It was only later when his following grew that he painted it as a _luxury_ to those he trusted. All lies, of course. He never trusted anyone."

"Not even you?"

Rowan grimaced. "Potter, Tom Riddle held so little trust for me that he made me take a vow so that I could never reveal a tiny detail about him to others."

"A vow? What vow?"

"One that doesn't concern you," she snapped, albeit there was no real threat to it. "A vow that still stands to this day. Despite your effort to stop him during your first year, I am still bound to that vow until-"

"Until he's dead," Potter finished sourly. Then he shook his head. "But then you would've already broken it, you've just talked about him."

Silence filled them again. It was cold and empty, still, silence had been her only comfort for a decade. She stiffened as she said, "I talked of Tom Riddle, the half brother I knew before, well, You-Know-Who. That, thankfully, was overlooked during the vow. My half brother discarded that part of himself and buried it deep inside, so, when it came to the vow he never thought to add his birth name to the contract." She laughed unnaturally, but stopped at Potter's unamused expression. "Despite him being a very powerful and very smart wizard, my half brother was surprisingly ignorant when it came to emotional attachments."

"So the memory of Tom Riddle, the one I met last year...that was him before he met you?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"But even then he was-"

"Manipulative, sadistic and psychotic," she said, listing them off as easily as writing a shopping list, "Tom Riddle fooled many people, Potter, including myself."

"He didn't fool Dumbledore," Potter replied flatly. His puffed out chest and a shimmering of a smile portrayed his admiration towards his headmaster. The poor boy didn't know the man, he only knew what Dumbledore wanted to show him. She wasn't about to reveal the true Albus Dumbledore to him. She could hint, just to revel in the boy's fallen facade.

"You're right there. But tell me, Harry, if Dumbledore knew what he was dealing with in Tom Riddle," she leaned forward with dark, wild eyes holding his gaze tightly, "why was he so _willing_ to introduce me to him? Why did he give Tom Riddle the perfect opportunity to poison a young child's mind? Why did Albus Dumbledore, your _caring_ headmaster, allow the ministry to lock me away before I could help them stop You-Know-Who?"

The questions hung in the space between them, a space that had shrunk considerably after leaning her body towards him. The boy flared up in anger, trying oh so hard to bite back the insults on his tongue. Oh he wanted to defend his role model's reputation so badly, wanted to spurn out harsh words that would stick at the back of her mind and remind her not to speak a word against Dumbledore again. That would have been a very _Slytherin_ thing to do. She smirked victoriously. The boy knew it too.

He stormed out, slamming the door roughly behind him. Her muscles relaxed and she bent her body into an upright, slouched position on the desk. That hadn't gone how she wanted it to. Initially, she wanted to show Potter that she was unlike her half brother and that she _could_ be trusted. But the boy had only proved to be a painful reminder. That pride of his, it had reminded her of Tom, and suddenly years of silent bitterness built up throughout her time as a reluctant follower, as a recruiter, and finally as a prisoner spilled out onto this innocent boy. She did feel guilty.

More so when she recalled his unfortunate encounter with a dementor on the train. It sent a sharp shiver through her whole body just to think about it. Tom Riddle and the dementor attack, those two darkened creatures bound them together. Rowan sighed. She wanted to tell the boy he was going to die. The Unbreakable Vow that marked her other arm forbade it.

Both the dark mark and the vow, like shackles around her wrists.

* * *

 **I don't think I wrote Harry all that well here, his compassion is what really shines in his character but to be faced with another reminder of Voldemort, someone he has to be taught by, must be difficult for him to stomach.**

 **Sorry this chapter is so short, I expect most of the third-year chapters will be short as the bulk of the story is with Tom and Rowan.**

 **I suddenly...have more time to write so expect this to be continued faster and I plan to start another fanfic soon, this one on Barty Crouch Jr.**


	4. Mudbloods and Purebloods

Chapter Three

Mudbloods and Pure-bloods

* * *

With her face pressed into the window Rowan watched as the scarlet train pulled away from the station. Tom ignored her as he read the _Daily Prophet_. The two sat in silence for a good hour, just long enough for her to be bored by the same green hills and occasional small villages, and then she plopped back onto who seat and stared intently at the newspaper. It reminded her that the newspaper she had of Morfin Gaunt was still in her briefcase that had now found its home in a large Hogwarts trunk. She had thought about burning it. However, every time she saw Morfin Gaunt's sneering face she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"What is it?"

Tom's bored question propelled the face out of her mind. "Pardon?"

"Why are you staring?"

"I was looking at the moving photos."

"Lies," he countered, dangerously.

"It was not!" She huffed. Tom roughly flicked the newspaper onto his lap and glared at her. Perhaps lying really didn't work on him. It was worth an ask, she supposed. "Did you read the article about Morfin Gaunt...and our father?"

"I did."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

Rowan looked horrified. "Don't you care at all?"

Tom's mouth twitched upwards again but his dark eyes flickered, he hadn't expected her to ask that. "I didn't _know_ him. Why should _I_ care?"

"Because, because he's your father too!" She roared, sharply standing up for emphasis. "You didn't _need_ to know him to care! I knew him enough to hate him but I still care!" And then her hands shot up to cover her mouth.

Tom lurched forward. "You hated him, did you?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, no I didn't! I didn't mean to say that."

"You're lying again-"

"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!" She howled, tears streaming down her face.

Tom leaned back and sighed. She truly was pathetic. He began to read the newspaper again, though this time not quite so avidly. When she realised her tears would not be comforted away she wiped her eyes and slithered back onto her seat. Her outbursts were terrible, she knew that, but she was _always_ provoked into them. Always. That wasn't _her_ fault. Tom's indifference made it easier to ignore him and eventually sleep took her as she curled up along the seat.

She was roughly woken up sometime later by Tom shaking her.

"It's half twelve, you need a snack."

Rowan rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gasped at the mountain of sweets that were laid at her feet. She sat up and looked between Tom and the sweets multiple times. "Why?"

"You need to eat something. There's still a few hours before we reach Hogwarts," he answered coolly. The newspaper was nowhere to be seen and he had his full attention on her. It was both unnerving and thoughtful.

"Thank you," she uttered before diving into the unusual sweets. They all tasted delicious and she had forgotten what sweets tasted like. However, even this wizarding world sweets warmed her tastebuds. She offered a golden box to Tom but he refused with a short shake of his head. Despite the glorious taste she barely made a dent in the small pile when she stopped eating, feeling full.

Tom took the pause to ask her a question, possibly the only thing about her that peaked his curiosity. "Pidge. Not your real name is it?" She shook her head. "Then why are you called that?"

"Father said I looked like a pigeon when I ate food, only pecking at it like 'crumbs of bread'. I guess it stuck. My real name is Rowan."

"Any middle name?"

"Sorbus."

"That's a strange middle name."

Rowan shrugged but her face drooped. "Father said my mother chose it. The only thing he ever told me about her."

"My mother chose my name too," Tom replied flatly. Something relatable between them would make her trust him more. His assumption was right as she smiled sadly at him. "So Pidge," he began, "we should probably begin to change into our robes soon, I expect we'll be arriving within a few hours."

He dutifully left the compartment and Rowan closed the doors' curtains. The robes matched her previous dull clothing but putting them on felt amazing. No more grey shorts, no more pretending. She smoothed out the black skirt and slid the curtain back again. Tom dipped his head inside and smirked. "Hard to imagine I had been as tiny and inexperienced as you not too long ago," he commented.

They swapped places and Rowan found herself swishing her robes with a hand, the silky black fabric liquified between her fingers. A boy her own age rushed past her, almost knocking her over, he snapped his head around to apologise before disappearing into a compartment further up. She glared after him while rubbing the sharp pain in her shoulder.

When both were changed and sat opposite each other again, Rowan noticed a green badge pinned to Tom's robes. "What's that?

"My prefect badge. Prefects watch over the other students in their house, have control over them and can dock points," Tom explained proudly. "There was supposed to be a meeting of all the prefects on the train today."

"Why didn't you go?"

Tom tilted his head slightly. "Because you're more important," he answered in a silky voice. Rowan was relieved. At least he didn't hate her too much then. Suddenly a yawn escaped her lips. "Still tired?"

"Someone was constantly snoring in The Leaky Cauldron but no one else seemed to notice."

Tom gently patted the space beside him. "Come here," he commanded softly, "you can lie on my lap if it's more comfortable."

She was uncertain at first, thinking it as some kind of joke, but Tom didn't seem to make many jokes. Cautiously she did as he ordered and shuffled over and laid her head gently on his lap. With a ghostly hand he stroked her hair. At first her thumping heart made it impossible to relax but as she adjusted to the foreign affection she fell into a deep sleep.

Tom smirked victoriously when he saw her body rising and falling slowly and heard the faintness of her breathing. Pathetic mudblood she was. But part of him reasoned that she could prove to be useful, otherwise, his act of keeping her alive that night at the Riddle House would have just been a sign of weakness. He was _not_ weak. He thought of ways in which he could persuade her further, to make her trust him without much contact between them. There were ways, of course.

He decided to wait until she was sorted into her chosen house before deciding on what exactly he would do.

* * *

Finally.

Finally she had the Sorting Hat placed on her head, a huge grin protruding below the rim of the hat that covered her eyes. She could hear the hat muttering in her ear, trying to choose which house she belonged to. _Please be Slytherin_ , she begged.

The Sorting Hat heard her. While it did see a thirst for ambition...

"Hufflepuff!"

The grin faded away. _No. No, no, no this wasn't happening._

Rowan couldn't move. Her feet were lead and her hands refused to let go of the four-legged stool. Even as the Hufflepuff table cheered she felt like crying, cursing, she was so _sure_ she could get into Slytherin. She had even _asked_ the stupid hat to put her in Slytherin.

With so many eyes watching her Rowan had to get up and stumble over to the Hufflepuff table. The nearest person to her shook her hand and gave her a friendly smile. Rowan didn't return it. She glanced across to the Slytherin table and found Tom gazing at her. He had the most smug look on his face. _Slytherin would never accept a muggle-born into it's house. It would disgrace the entire Slytherin legacy._ Rowan shrunk into herself. Perhaps she was a muggle-born after all.

The first week was a miserable one. She avoided the Hufflepuff common room as much as possible and despite her fellow dormitory girls trying to include her in their late night chats she pretended to sleep so that they would leave her alone. She got lost virtually every lesson as she refused to ask the many Hogwarts ghosts for help and a particularly horrible poltergeist, Peeves, would suddenly make a coat of armour scream at her whenever she walked past. The lessons themselves were wonderful once she found them and apologised for being late. Transfiguration quickly became a favourite as Dumbledore was their teacher and her least favourite was Potions.

Professor Slughorn was cheerful enough and had expected her to excel in his class like Tom. That had been the case until her first lesson. He was concerned that she had managed to mix up ingredients so badly that the cauldron she shared with a Ravenclaw girl melted before their eyes.

And then there was Tom.

Ever since the Sorting Ceremony she hadn't seen him. If it wasn't for Professor Slughorn telling her how well he was doing in Potions she would've guessed he didn't exist. Every free period she had she used to try and find him but it always left her alone and behind on work for her lessons. Logically, she knew his timetable was different to hers but part of her felt he was avoiding her on purpose. She had been sorted into the 'pushover' house after all.

The next week started off badly too as she made the mistake of rushing to the first floor girls' bathroom. A Slytherin first-year had hounded her with insults once he knew of her blood status, how he knew she didn't know, but his last insult as well as another failed Potions lesson sent her over the edge and she had sprinted into the lavatory to cry beside the sink. Or she would have, if not for a silvery ghost hovering beside it. She wore the ghostly robes of a Ravenclaw and when she saw Rowan rudely slamming the door open she screeched. "GET OUT!"

Too startled to move she just sobbed there on the spot. The ghostly girl glared at her angrily, swirling around her a few times to get her to leave, but realised the more she screamed the more the girl cried. So she waited impatiently and eventually Rowan was sick of her own tears and wiped them away roughly. "I-I'm sorry," she stuttered.

"Just get out and leave me alone," the ghostly girl snapped. She paused for a moment, hovering over this little first year with swollen, red eyes. "Why were _you_ crying?"

Rowan sniffled, "a Slytherin boy was insulting me."

"Is that all? When I was alive people bullied me because of _everything_ about me! My glasses, my acne, my blood status-"

Rowan's head shot up. "Are you a muggle-born too?"

"Yes," she answered flatly. "Is that why the Slytherin boy was bullying you?" Rowan nodded. The ghostly girl grinned mischievously. "Want me to haunt him? I haunt Olive Hornby you know, the one that bullied me."

Rowan shook her head fervently, "that'll make it worse. But thank you." She shuffled her feet before adding, "who are you?"

"I'm Myrtle."

Myrtle. No one had told her about a ghost named Myrtle. "Have you been in here for decades, or hundreds of years like the other ghosts?"

At that Myrtle giggled, it was raspy and close to mad. "No silly girl! I've been dead for a few months, didn't they tell you what happened last year?"

Rowan shook her head. Myrtle explained the sudden petrified muggle-borns and her own death and how it had nearly caused Hogwarts to close completely. A wave of fear flowed through Rowan as she listened, what if the same thing happened this year? "And then they caught him, _Hagrid_ , he'd done it alright. I heard Olive Hornby telling some others girls about it and how a prefect had caught him with the monster."

Hagrid? Prefect?

"Who?"

"You're just a little first year no need to know more."

"But you've already told me so much," Rowan whined.

"I have," Myrtle agreed, then grinned, "doesn't mean I have to tell you everything." And with that she dived headfirst into a toilet stall.

* * *

Tom leaned against the wooden archway and let the mid-afternoon breeze ruffle his hair. If he was correct, and he usually was, Rowan would be walking down the bridge any minute now. After another week she had given up trying to find him and had taken her free periods to sit beside the lake, alone.

He felt now was the time to act, seeing as that snotty Slytherin first year had done exactly as he had hoped.

Sure enough tapping footsteps sprinted towards him and halted close to his side. He made no motion that he had noticed her and continued to stare absentmindedly at the sky. She grew impatient, angry even, as he finally coughed and without turning his head addressed her, "hello there."

"Hello," she replied hollowly.

She sounded miserable. Good. "How was your first few weeks? Slughorn tells me you're terrible at Potions. One of the worst students he has ever had." That was a lie. Slughorn still had high hopes for her once the initial failures were done. Still, the more he got under her skin the better.

Her hands clenched into fists until her knuckles were white. She was so _close_ to crying there and then but held them in the best she could. "Don't think I don't know."

"What are you talking about?" He asked, pretending to be confused.

"I know you're avoiding me, I'm not stupid. It's because I'm a Huffllepuff isn't it? Or is it because I'm a _mudblood_? Yes I know what that means now, I've had a boy insulting me with it since I started. I-I thought you'd at least _try_ to help me, mudblood or not, because I don't have anyone else," she paused to gasp in a breath, "But you're doing what he did. You're pretending I don't exist. I hate you!"

She tried to run past him but a hand slithered around her arm and gripped tightly, like a snake constricting it's prey. He yanked her to face him, his grip tightening still as he bent a knee down to her level. His dark eyes, unblinking, kept contact as he talked. "Listen to me, don't ever think you being muggle-born changes anything."

"But you said-"

"I admit I didn't like it at first. Can you blame me? You had the life with our father that I never had, the life I wanted. I was...jealous. And that, that made me act so horribly to you and for that I am so sorry." He paused and smiled. "But seeing you so excited on the Hogwarts Express, talking about our mothers even though it was brief, it made me realise we are not so different. And I haven't been avoiding you," he lied, "my timetable, my work for classes and being a prefect keeps me busy. I'll try and find some free time, alright?"

She nodded her head sadly, not entirely convinced. He would have to do something else. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around her in a light hug. It seemed to work as she relaxed and hugged his middle as if her life depended on it. It nearly winded him and he wanted nothing more than to push her away but he endured it. Suddenly, he smirked darkly.

"Now, who's this Slytherin boy you mentioned?"

Rowan broke away from him to give him a quizzical look. "I never said he was in Slytherin. How did you know?"

Tom's face flashed with panic for a split second before it settled into a small smile. "A lucky guess, it's really only Slytherin that has issues with muggle-borns."

She was going to question further but Tom looked over her head to see Dumbledore walking towards them. Dumbledore always had a way of turning up whenever Tom didn't want him to. He stood up and greeted the interfering wizard with a nod. "Good afternoon, professor."

"Evening, Tom. Good to see you two getting along, however, may I borrow Pidge for a moment?"

"Of course, professor."

"Good, good. Follow me, please."

Rowan nervously followed Dumbledore back towards the castle. She turned her head around to send a fearful look towards Tom, in response he mouthed for it to be alright. As they turned into small dots in the distance Tom's smile dropped into a sinister glare. If his plan was going to work he had to isolate her, even from Dumbledore.


End file.
